


ruination

by shiicn



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Drabble, M/M, a what if scenario if shion had been in safu's place at the correctional facility, and tori was his crazy scientist, i wrote this last halloween and just remembered this account lol, non-con elements, outlast au??, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiicn/pseuds/shiicn
Summary: you are still here, blindly painting flowers on white-washed walls and praying for a garden to grow in the barren earth under your feet. who’s more cold ; the lover or the dead?





	

he is not cognizant of the passage of time in a place like this ; the only marker of change is the subtle hiss of the cell door and the presence of new needle scars upon his body that inject him daily with a substance that leaves him within a constant free-fall of relief and mind-wrenching AGONY that threatens to take hold of and destroy any sense of humanity and rationality he still possesses. perhaps, it already has ( he bites his lip as something hot curls through his stomach at the curt footfalls that make their way to his side, familiar in the fear they curdle and SHAMEFUL excitement that rides a low undercurrent in his veins ).

without fail, his eyes roam emptily underneath the cover placed on top of them to prevent him from seeing anything ( what better way to dehumanize your subject than to remove the aspect of seeing emotion in their gaze? ) at the sound of another presence well known by now hovering silently at first by his side, taking stock as best he can with the senses left to him of the mood of his only jailer / companion, the day’s events dependent always upon the slightest intakes of annoyed breath, caressing hands in his hair, or irritated words in half snatches in a muted tone. he’s only too KEENLY aware of how he must look, thin wrists and ankles bound to the cold metal of the examination table and a loose gown bestowing the barest of modesty he might possess, machines and various instruments hooked into his skin and protruding from him until he’s no longer quite sure where his bones begin and medical tubing ends. and yet-

❛ You believe me, don’t you? I’m going to make you a KING above all others- ”

it’s the words so fervently expressed, painted red with desire in his own blood, that leave him gasping for air as if he had been choked by hands invisible when the figure looms over him with a horrible sort of GRACE that might be counted as angelic tenderness if one distorted the situation far enough. but that was the magic of the facility ; everything became distorted in time, even the way his hands once clawed in fear dragged against the smooth resistant steel table to get away and now lay trembling in open supplication for comfort sure to follow. the touch that follows is one filled with REVERENCE as if he’s some holy being brought to life upon an altar of sanctification and sacrilege, wrought out of nightmares and dreams soaked in the perfumes of lustful wine. he hateslovescraves the way those fingers lay themselves upon his body in promises of what could come if only these pitiful barriers between them were removed.

❛ A king, no- a GOD- and you’ll purify them all, and I’ll love you more than anyone ever could, you have no idea how BEAUTIFUL you’ll be- ”

he does not feel beautiful ; he feels ruinous, spliced, wretched in retribution and still he shivers under the way those fingers wander with precise care, trembling themselves as if HESITANT to even press themselves against his skin. still he feels his body flush in response to the worship it receives in lips as cold as the metal behind him, gown pushed and pulled aside. still he wants to laugh if he could, a frightful and broken sound at the sheer idea of RELIGION being found in a place like this, but he supposes even creatures of hell must still seek the forgiveness of the hand of their god. he wants to laugh at the idea of this man finding eden in the hollows of his bones that he’s cleaned out himself, in the soft curve of his neck. he wants to laugh and he wants to cry because he’s found it himself in this never-ending nightmare in the litany of devotion he receives daily, the only thing keeping the pieces of his fractured being whole, strung together by frayed threads on the VERGE of blessedly snapping cleanly.

( who listens to a god’s prayers whispered in the darkness? )

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @shiicn where i burn in shion/tori hell daily


End file.
